


Static Voice

by junkpunk



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Action/Adventure, Apocalypse, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-13 00:34:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5687752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junkpunk/pseuds/junkpunk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tyler sees static. Everyone around him says he's crazy. But when he meets Josh Dun, he realizes the static he sees is much more than some human deficiency. Through love, friendship, blood, tears, and adventure, Tyler is the key to save the world from destruction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. There's An Infestation In My Mind's Imagination

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I've ever written. Hope you enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mood swing day

Tyler is lying down on his deep navy blue bed, his mattress not so right. His feet and spin a perfectly align with his worn-out brown fan. The soles in his eyes are dark and deep, conveying the amount of sleep he obtains.   
His hard, tan fingers pull back on a vibrant red rubber band, expanding the material, and releasing it into the air. The red loop contracts immediately and flies to his pasty white ceiling, not quite making it there, and then zipping straight back down onto his hard, clothed chest. 

The ceiling feels miles and miles away from him, and no matter how far he stretches back the malleable redness, it never arrives at the white finish line.

His attention diverts when he hears his door creak open, sounding like a rusted coffin. Through the door reveals shoulder length white blonde hair wrapping around a thin and aged face holding light, soft blue eyes that contrast his own. 

She was a lovely woman, but Tyler can still see her face filled with static.

She opened her thin lips and divulging a faint voice “Tyler, school starts in 30 minutes. Can you get ready?” 

Her tone was filled with cotton that was afraid to get picked. 

Sighing, he dragged his rough covers over his form, covering his appearance.

“Honey-“ she started

“Mom I’m not a substance made from bees; stop calling me honey.” Tyler replied in a tired, dull voice.

“Fine. Tyler, can you-“

“Which Tyler? Tyler Smith, Tyler Jones, Tyler Collins, Tyler Grey, the amount of Tyler’s in this world are endless.”

“Tyler Robert Joseph, save these thoughts for your therapist”, She spoke sternly.

The colors around him changed from gravestone grey to grease black.

His facial expression morphed from tired to stone. The eyes he holds stared into her opposing static ones unemotionally.

“Figures.”

His mom’s facial expression immediately softened. Her colors altered from light blue to haunting indigo.

“Tyler I didn’t mean it like-“

“Whatever. Just leave me alone.”

His mother stared down solemnly, slipping her wrinkled fingers around the worn down silver knob. His eyes never reached her as she simply shut the door with a small thud. 

Tyler somehow managed to drag his useless body out of his ‘not-so-right’ bed, soundlessly stomped down his extensive auburn hardwood floors, and finally into his overly white bathroom. 

Tyler hates white.

He hates white so very much.

White is the color of Dr. Sheldon’s therapy office. White is the color of the hospital where he didn’t know if he was alive, dreaming, or dead. White is the color taking his vision when migraines entertain him. White is the color where he saw the most static in. 

White is the color of his soul that they lied about.

If it were Tyler’s choice, he’d dance the walls with the soft warm marigold glow of a streetlamp at midnight. When Tyler ran away from home formerly, the one single entity that retained him from running into traffic and ending his reality right then and there eternally, was the hauntingly serene mystery of the marigold streetlamp.

When he looked at the streetlamp, he saw barley any static. At the moment, it didn’t make very much sense because all the other lamps had a surplus of static. He still hasn’t quite figured out why, but it felt as if the lamp repelled him away, like they were both south sides of a magnet. The lamp spoke to him as if it were saying, “your time isn’t over.” 

He will never forget that compelling glow.

He knew he hasn’t achieved his full purpose, so until then, he remains a limbo of contradictions. 

Gaining back his consciousness, he glanced at his shape. 

Tyler wasn’t an unattractive person.

In fact, he was far from it.

Despite never leaving his room unless he has to, his skin has a naturally glowing tan. He has short and fluffy chocolate hair, harmonizing his soft stone mocha eyes. His lips matched with the hue of pink bubblegum, exposing a silk, plump texture. His facial skin is smooth and pure, opposing his marked grey hands. Even though he’s tall, precisely 5 feet 6 inches, his frame is very little and weak. He can manipulate his appearance through nonverbal energy to seem strong when necessary, but at this moment, he doesn’t care enough.

Tyler doesn’t see his own beauty. Instead of glowing tan skin, he sees grey cracked concrete. Instead of fluffy chocolate brown hair, he sees an obscene coal-stained brown in every direction. Instead of bubblegum lips, he sees ripped, colorless flesh. Instead of a pure face, he sees a lifeless canvas.

Refusing to look in the mirror any longer, he forces his eyeballs back down to the fucking white sink. He turns the icy sink knob to warm, soothing temperature. He splashes his face with the silk texture of the water, internally hoping he drowns in it. Before the thoughts become too much, he leaves the bathroom with as efficiently as possible. 

Today was one of Tyler’s “bad days”. He knew he had the ability to manipulate it and turn it around if he really tried, but the clouds were too shadowy and the air was too callous to really put any struggle. 

Plus, Tyler liked being sad. It made things make more sense somehow.

Ignoring his family’s loud static voices, he trudged down the hard wood stairs. He ignored the idea of breakfast and passed the kitchen right to the door in a mission to get this wretched day over with. With not enough care to change out of his loose black cotton t-shirt and grey sweatpants, he threw on the first pair of black converse he sees, and shoots out through the door. 

The glacial winter air roughly painted his face as he sauntered towards his bus stop. He could have a car, but his parents and Dr. Sheldon are too petrified at the thought of Tyler pulling the steering wheel, attempting to end his existence.

Tyler thinks that if he wanted to kill himself, he would’ve done it by now. He has the power to do it anytime. He could do it right now. He could step out into the fucking road and die right now. 

Although the thought hangs in front of him like a chocolate cake, he made a promise to the universe that he must essentially for fill his destined purpose. 

But what if you have no purpose? What if you’re just an example of death created to “inspire” other people? There is no God. There is no Universe. You’re all alone. You will never be loved. You will be stuck in this static filled ball forever-

A quick black car blasting out the vague sound of Sum41 zipped by, breaking him out of his thoughts. 

He hates this existential limbo.

Shaking his head, he placed his white headphones into his ear, letting his body be enveloped with the soft sound of Something in the Way by Nirvana. 

When Tyler finally met his bus stop, he noticed the other static peers he usually encounters aren’t there. Confused, he checks his phone for the time. 

7:35am

Fuck

The first bell rang 5 minutes ago. 

Tyler does not want to go back into his static cage of a home, in fear of his family bombarding him with annoying questions surrounding the most famous ones like, “why aren’t you at school?” and “are you okay?” 

He knew that his parents wouldn’t find out if he skipped. Ever since freshman year, Tyler blocked the school’s number from his mom’s phone so he can sleep in the library instead of learning about quadratic equations.

Tyler came to the conclusion that he would skip. 

Hastily, Tyler pulled his phone out from his pocket and alerted a taxi.

Fuck Uber. Those are sketchy as hell.

He waited longer and longer and his body became colder and colder, the breeze slowly clawing his way inside of his form. 

Finally, the beautifully plain taxicab pulled up and Tyler quickly shoved his body into the back. 

“Wher to, boi?” spoke the grizzly, static cab driver.

“Um… Donny’s Diner and Deli?” Tyler spoke warily.

“Alrighty”

Tyler glanced at the driver, taking in his aura. He reeked of failed rock star dreams. He smelled vaguely of cigarettes and some type of unknown meat. He wasn’t a bad guy though. He could tell he was a very loyal and a silly man; the type that has a rumbling low rough laugh when he hears a lame joke about dogs or something. The type of laugh that sounds of logs rolling down a slightly rocky hill. He reminded Tyler of a St. Bernard with a touch of Lion. 

He still has static.

The rest of the car ride was filled with a comfortable dusky and cabin-like silence as the car delicately reverberated across the cement road. 

“That’ll be twenny fify” the driver announced cheerily, waking Tyler out of his flat trance.

Tyler looked up, realizing he attained at his destination. He whipped out a couple green dollars with static faces printed upon them, handing the crumbled paper to the chauffeur. 

“Keep the change” Tyler added, not caring about the amount money he gave. Money never mattered to Tyler. 

“Have a good meal” 

“Haha, will do” Tyler awkwardly said, leaving the static taxi.

He never saw his face, nor will he ever again.

The cab soon sped away onto a new destination, leaving Tyler alone with a cold breeze that welcomed him back. Tyler gazed briefly at the small beige diner, taking in the simplicity.

It still has static.

Diverting his way around the almost empty parking lot, he became enclosed by monumental, hoary undecorated trees. Looking back at the parking lot one last time, he noticed the one black car, getting an overwhelming sense of déjà vu.

Ignoring the feeling, he turned back around and lost his steps in the melancholy forest. 

His worn down converse crunched upon the tattered red leafs of the forest floor. Tyler’s ears invited the new song: Dying Broken Hearted by Empyrium. 

Tyler can never stare at trees without thinking they’re uncanny fingers trying to claw their way from the underground. Although they’re terrifying, he feels a sense of comfort; he relates to them somehow.

Multiple trees and minutes flew by as he conclusively arrived at his destination.

The destination: an abandoned two-story house.

 

The white fractured surface resembled Tyler face. The crumbling hanging windows reflected Tyler’s soft, troubled eyes. The roof was occupied with sizeable black holes, replicating his mind. The rooms were empty and complete with decayed powder, imitating his heart.

The house was ruined in the eyes of anyone who dared to discover it; but to Tyler, he’d never seen anything so pure.

It’s like the house had its own story. At one point in time, this withered frame was complete with joy. Tyler likes to imagine a bright cloudless day; the faint sound of birds whistling a chorus, perky lime leafs wrapping every branch, and the crisp aroma of spring air flowing with positive energy. The children were in the backyard dreaming; a little girl brushing her doll’s under a willow among a canvas full of bright green leafs, protecting her from all harm of the sun’s rays. A tiny boy was also there, soaring through the air in his make pretend rocket swing. The dad was flipping hamburger patties on the grill, the sizzling hum swept through the air along with the whistling his favorite rock tune from his wild teenager days. The family was finally complete with the beautiful wife soaking up the sun’s kisses in her glowing skin.

Everything was just… simple.

Everything made sense.

But all good things don’t last forever. 

The once joyous house was now empty, filled with a haunting and ominous energy. The bright cloudless day was currently morphed into a screaming murky grey. The lively green leafs and the choirs of birds singing are long gone. The crisp air was choked to death by the ruthless abandonment of the past. 

All the life and dreams that once filled this vessel vanished. The only thing left was this empty shell, waiting for its inevitable decay.

This house was Tyler.

The house was Tyler’s.

Tyler decided to name the uninhibited house his ‘tree house’. No, it wasn’t a stereotypical house constructed in the heights of a tree, but it was nostalgic; much like someone’s untainted childhood.

And god did he love it.

Tyler made his way up the tattered and unsteady russet patio steps, guiding him straight to the matching entrance, which happened broken and unable to be opened. Not even giving a second glance at the door, Tyler casually diverted his steps to the left, slipping his body through the shattered window and exposing his eyes to the natural glow of the dark inside. Although from the exterior it seemed like not a living soul has been inside the house in centuries, the walls were filled with a rainbow of art created by spray paint. From pure chaotic black and blood red to tranquil calm blue and soft white, he loved throwing up his creative insides upon these walls. Although Tyler never complements himself on anything, his art is the one thing he is extremely proud of. Being stuck in conformity of school 5 days a week took heavy toll on his soul; Tyler he needs some release.

This house was perfect for it.

Passing through the tainted first floor, he made his way up the fragile ash mocha steps all the way to the top floor – the walls matching one ones six feet below him. Softly crunching his feet upon the debris, Tyler’s hands found the worn down white string hanging from the ceiling, giving the chalk strand a sharp tug down. The square section of the ceiling whipped down swiftly, greeting Tyler with a simple paint splattered ladder, just as brittle as the past ascending steps.

Tyler slowly and carefully climbed up the parallel pieces, rising farther and farther above the ground, until he finally reached the attic. The walls seem to form an upside down V, giving off a claustrophobic atmosphere. The attic is mostly untouched except a few dashes a red, Tyler notes. He will have to decorate these slanted walls later.

Tyler turns his head to the left, aiming his steps towards medium sized hole in the roof. 

As the distance between Tyler and the hole grows shorter, something didn’t feel right. He tries to ignore the feeling, but the instinctual tug in his stomach says otherwise. It’s the type of tug that you don’t know if continuing foreword is going to end positively or negatively. It’s the type of tug you get when you’re walking into school the first day. It’s not a nervous feeling, but more of an excited? 

The tug seemed to grow larger and larger and the magnetic pull towards the hole seems to get stronger and stronger and he finally reached the fracture.

With his head feeling full of air, Tyler pulled himself through the hole and feet landing on top of the dusky ashen covering. 

The tug went away, creating a sense of peace throughout his body. Like he just ran a marathon and he finally crossed the finish line. He didn’t know why that euphoria came upon him; Tyler has been on this roof way too many times to count. Without another thought about the subject, he the song he wrote, letting his vocal chords vibrate throughout his chest. Looking up, he took in his surroundings.

Tyler suddenly realized he turned his day around without even meaning to.

He felt at harmony.

That is, until he turned around.

Fuckfuckfuck

He’s not alone.

There in front of Tyler stood another man, eyes staring deeply into his.

Tyler violently froze

The other pair grazed up and down his body, not in a predatory way, but more in an observatory way.

Mocking the other, Tyler took his appearance in.

His hair resembled a match: black at the sides and fiery red at the top. The fire of hair was contained by a solid black backwards snapback. His strong but welcoming dark brown eyes kept Tyler unmoving. He had a small ghost of shaven facial hair, inhabiting an easy pale face. His loose cotton black shirt enclosed a firm, fit body. His slim legs wrapped around by ripped black jeans. His large feet were covered with black converse, matching Tyler. His right arm was amazing. He has a tattoo filled with an explosion of a dark black, deep blue, flaming orange and red universe that greets a large, light green and leaf-filled tree; background hinting a soft sunset ocean. It looked like Picasso himself painted it.

To say this man was the most gorgeous person on the planet would be an understatement.

But then something hit him 

Something that made him almost pass out

Something that would change Tyler’s life forever 

This man right in front of Tyler

This fucking man

Held not one trace static

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Tyler Robert Joseph.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a cheesy cliffhanger lol. New chapter coming soon!


	2. Introduction

Tyler Joseph has to be in control.

He has to create his life with a detailed blueprint.

He tells himself nothing can go wrong

Nothing will go wrong

Because if something goes wrong 

If something falls off his grid, the static becomes too much.

Static is something he can’t control: his enemy.

Everyone around him is static. He can’t trust anyone, not even his “loved ones”. 

Everyone is out to out to get him. 

Take him.

Swarm him.

And just the mere thought makes him vibrate with an unexplainable darkness. 

He tries all the time to suppress these visions, but every time he looks up at the sky or imagines what’s inside of him, the static starts shaking, throwing him, filling him up and eating him from the inside out.

He imagines his organs surrounded by darkness. If he has a soul, wouldn’t light illuminate through him? Wouldn’t he feel the energy? 

But he thinks with the static, there is no light. 

There never will be light.

Everyone is static

Everything is static

There’s no escape.

**Author's Note:**

> New characters will be added shortly!


End file.
